


Honeypot

by suspiciousteapot



Series: Imagine Claire and Jamie ficlets [2]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canon Divergence, Dragonfly in Amber, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 21:57:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5065861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suspiciousteapot/pseuds/suspiciousteapot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anonymous asked: Imagine if in Paris, apart from getting her underarms waxed, Claire had also gotten a Brazilian wax. How would Jamie react when he found that surprise in the middle of a make out session?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honeypot

**Author's Note:**

> Response to a prompt sent to imagineclaireandjamie on tumblr.

“Are ye all washed off, Sassenach?” Jamie asked, his breathing returning to normal as he inhaled the foul - but blessedly hyacinth-free - Parisian air.

“Yes, it should be safe for you to come back.” Claire replied as she struggled with the laces of her gown.

He paused by the window, admiring the way the afternoon light brought out the many different colours in her hair. _God, she’s bonny._

“Here,” he said innocently, “let me help ye with that.”

Coming around behind her, he quickly did away with her efforts, parting the gown to reveal the elegant curve of her back.

“Jamie!”

“Hmmm.” He pulled her against him and nuzzled her neck, now thankfully restored to her normal smell.

Claire squirmed against him, her breath coming faster as his hands found their way to her breasts.

Christ, he’d been thinking of this all day – thinking of the smell of her hair, the taste of her on his lips, the sounds she made when he came to her, fierce and urgent. Thank the Lord Louise de Rohan hadn’t managed to convince her to do anything more drastic than mask herself with a wee bit of perfume.

Her lovely arse was doing a good job of making sure this would be over far too quickly, so he released her enough to guide her to their bed.

As she freed her arms from her gown and drew him back to her, he noticed something was wrong, though in his dazed state, it took him some time to realize what it was.

Breaking away, he lifted her arm.

“What the hell are you doing?” She asked, alarmed.

He gaped at the sight that greeted him for a moment before responding.

“Yer oxters are bare!”

Confusingly, she looked rather pleased with herself.

“Oh, is _that_ all. Glad you noticed. It’s been waxed. Louise and I had a bit of personal grooming done.” she confirmed, leaning in to resume their activities as though this was completely natural. He resisted.

“ _Wax?_ Ye dripped a candle on yer underarms?”

“No,” She began impatiently, “but I’ll explain that later, hmm?”

Had she expected him to like that she’d done this? Perhaps ladies did this all of the time in the future and she thought him odd for taking offense to it. Jesus, perhaps ladies did this all of the time now. That was an alarming thought. But he decided he could put his foot down about this a wee bit later. At the moment he was far more concerned with the soft fingers firmly driving him to distraction, and the hard peaks of the breasts pressing against him through his shirt. 

Giving in to temptation, he brought his lips back to hers, twining his hands through her soft curls.

When the feeling of her hand grew too overwhelming, he gently disengaged it and kissed his way down her chest, coming to kneel between her legs. Pulling them over his shoulders, he traced his tongue up her the ivory length of her thigh, eyes closing in pleasure at the shiver that ran through her. He made his way towards his goal by touch alone, drawn forward by the growing heat of her. He moved up to kiss her just above the spot that elicited that bonny sound that was halfway between a shout and a moan…and then abruptly shot up in a flurry of skirts.

“ _DÈ IUTHARN?_ ”

Angrily he rose to his feet, fumbling with the laces of his breaches. He was too shaken and upset to allow her to distract him again, and she seemed too surprised to try.

“It’s not that bad!” 

But he wouldn’t hear it. The oxters and legs were one thing, but this, this -

“ _Not that bad?_ ” He exploded, “Tha thu às do thonaisg! Ye’ve had the hedge off yer honeypot!”

Claire rose, her indignation matching his. “For God’s sake calm down. It’s not the end of the world, French ladies do it all of the time!”

“French ladies also pierce their breests!” He argued, pacing the floor rapidly in distress.

“Well I’m not about to do _that_ anytime soon, but - Where are you going?”

He’d stormed over to the door; unable to listen to any explanation she might have for this. Not right now.

“I need ta walk. I’ll return once my heid stops spinning and I can see something other than you, plucked bare as a chicken for supper.”

Clearly the cost of associating with French society was higher than he’d anticipated.


End file.
